'They named her Bronte, unable to decide between Charlotte and Anne. 'A windswept name,' thought Rebecca, with the exhilaration of some-one about to do something not quite sensible. Bronte slithered out from between Rebecca's thighs, cold and wet, with a thatch of dark hair plastered to her face. She lay gasping like a dying fish until the doctor wiped the mucus from her mouth and smacked her smartly on the back...' (Publication abstract)